


The Sound of Silence

by ThePhantomsRose



Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera & Related Fandoms, The Phantom of the Opera (TV 1990)
Genre: Cherik - Freeform, Daydreaming, Erik is Mute, Erik is a Sweetheart, F/M, Fluff, Poor Erik, Protective Erik, Wholesome, erik x christine
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-29
Updated: 2021-02-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 16:35:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 7,418
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28400268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePhantomsRose/pseuds/ThePhantomsRose
Summary: "Where words fail, music speaks"Below the Paris Opera house dwells the mysterious masked musician known as the Phantom of the Opera.  Without a voice of his own, he seeks the perfect voice to sing his Opera, which he finds in Christine Daae.  Although he cannot speak to her, he talks through his music and his art.  Christine helps bring Erik's Opera to life and an audience, and Erik finds himself falling in love with her.
Relationships: Christine Daaé/Erik | Phantom of the Opera
Comments: 12
Kudos: 31





	1. The Opera Ghost

Two heavy fists slammed on the organ keys in utter frustration, producing a loud and sour note that was torture to one’s ears. He couldn’t concentrate on his music; the opera he was writing would be performed for all of Paris to see and hear, or so he hoped for one day. Normally, ideas flowed from his head and into his hands as they danced on the organ keys, however his well of inspiration had run dry. The event that had taken place just hours before constantly replayed in his head and ceased to end like a broken record.

The truth was, Erik didn’t _want_ to kill Joseph Buquet; he held nothing against the man who had the misfortune of working for the witch Carlotta, the wife of the new manager of the Opera Garnier, Choleti. Part of Erik thought he had done the monsieur a favor by putting him out of his misery having to take orders from her, yet his rationality told him the truth; for the first time in his life, he had murdered an innocent man.

Erik slowly uncurled his balled-up hands and heaved a sigh, gently patting the organ keys as if to apologize for hitting them. He combed his slender fingers through his neat, honey-colored hair absentmindedly, staring off into space and practically begging his brain to come up with melodies instead of replaying his murder. 

The sudden sound of light footsteps against stone caused Erik to snap himself away from his torturous thoughts, realizing he wasn’t wearing his mask. The wooden bench creaked as Erik lifted his weight off of it and he dashed across the room to his vanity where several masks were lined up, each on their own mannequin bust. Erik selected his “everyday mask,” as he referred it to himself; a simple flesh-toned porcelain mask that covered nearly his entire face, leaving only his eyes, mouth, and chin uncovered. 

The footsteps grew closer and closer until Erik heard them stop a few feet away from him. He spun around to face the intruder, only to see the familiar face of Gerard Carriere, the previous owner of the Opera Garnier and the only soul whom Erik allowed to enter his lair. Erik’s stiff features relaxed at the familiar sight and he gave a small smile. However Gerard did not return the friendly greeting; his wrinkled face was stern and his mustached lip was downturned in a frown.

“Erik, is Joseph Buquet dead?” Gerard asked bluntly, folding his hands in front of him and glaring at Erik.

Erik swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat as he nodded slowly. Gerard’s expression didn’t change, as if he had already known the answer before asking the question. Erik bent his head down in shame as he stood in front of Gerard, still towering over the shorter man.

“Nevermind it; what’s done is done,” Gerard said defeatedly. “That’s not the main reason I came down here. I came to tell you that I have been relieved of my position as manager here.”

Erik just nodded briefly, slowly bringing his head back up. Gerard raised his eyebrows at the placid reaction. 

“You knew this already, didn’t you?” Gerard inquired, earning another nod from Erik.

“Well then that means you must know I cannot protect you anymore,” Gerard began, his voice laced with worry. “You can’t be roaming the Opera and doing as you please from now on. Nobody knows who you really are, Erik, and it’s best if they don’t find out.”

Although Erik didn’t breathe a word to express his thoughts on the situation, his eyes told the story in more depth than one’s mouth ever could. The gold irises that Gerard had seen sparkle whenever Erik was playing away at his organ had dulled and resembled tarnished gold. 

What was he to do? Remain cooped up in the catacombs for the rest of his life? Erik knew that Gerard was a rather old man and that he likely only had a couple of years left of life unless the Lord decided to take him sooner. He so wished that he could come up with a plan to rid the Opera of Choleti and Carlotta and give back Gerard his rightful spot as manager, but he feared that the results of any plane he could come up with would be far too late. As much as Erik enjoyed his privacy and solitude down below the Opera house, he also took appreciation in watching the operas performed in the auditorium, so he knew he must come up with some sort of idea that would let him go above and keep him from being seen.

As Erik stood, puzzling on the predicament, his eyes wandered to one of the many costumes that was hung up on a coat rack. Erik turned to Gerard and held up his index finger as if to say “just a moment.” Gerard watched him with a befuddled expression, but nevertheless waited to see what Erik had in mind.

Brushing off some of the dust that had collected on the black garment over the past few years, Erik slipped on the cape over his shoulders and tied it around the front of his neck. There was also a black brimmed hat hanging on the rack beside the cape; Erik placed the hat atop his head, turning back to Gerard, who still wore an expression of perplexity. Erik draped the cape over his arm and brought it up to his face, concealing everything except for his eyes. He dashed behind a stone pillar and slunk around in the shadows of the lair, quiet as a mouse.

Gerard had already lost track of where Erik was hiding, and he spun around on his heels in search of the cloaked figure. Erik emerged from a shadowy corner behind Gerard and tapped his shoulder, causing the old man to gasp in fright. Erik brought the cloak down from his face and returned to stand in front of Gerard, his eyes glittering with amusement and a small smile on his lips.

"Okay, I see what you have in mind, Erik," Gerard tried to hold back a chuckle, but failed. "And I suppose I cannot stop you from going above, but what if someone sees you?"

Despite Erik being confident in his hiding abilities, he had to admit that Gerard made a good point, so Erik resumed his brainstorming. It was then when he recalled the countless stories about ghosts haunting old buildings and castles. In the stories, the ghosts were rarely seen, and if they were seen it was only for a brief moment. Without a gesture to Gerard, Erik ran over to his organ and grabbed a blank piece of parchment. With his quill and ink, Erik scribbled a letter for Gerard to deliver to Choleti. Once he was finished, he folded the letter neatly and handed it to Gerard.

Gerard took the letter from Erik, turning it over in his hands. Erik pointed to the letter and then pointed to the ceiling, instructing him to deliver the letter up above. Gerard stared at Erik with puzzlement, however he simply nodded. It was then when Gerard noticed there were two words scrawled on the front of the letter in sloppy red ink - _Opera Ghost_

  
  



	2. The Soprano

Gerard held the parchment letter firmly in his frail fingers as he marched back up the zig-zagging stone stairs of Erik's lair. Against better judgement, Gerard decided to not snoop and read the letter before delivering it to Choleti; he knew Erik was intelligent and trusted that he knew what he was doing.

The wall of the hidden passageway slid open to reveal the foyer of the Opera house, where a grand marble statue stood proudly in the center. Gerard veered left down a long hallway where the manager's office was located. The office sat at the end of the hallway, an intimidating and grand mahogany door beholding a golden plaque engraved with "Monsieur Choleti" greeted Gerard as he approached the door. The graying man brought his fist up to the door and gave three firm knocks before stepping back and waiting for a response.

After a couple of moments, the dark wooden door creaked open and a short, mustached man popped his head out. Gerard dipped his head with resented respect and the man grinned a crooked smile in return. "Ah Monsieur Carriere, come in, _s'il vous plaît_ ," the man opened the door wider and he returned to his luxurious leather armchair that sat behind his desk.

"What brings you here?" Choleti inquired as he folded his hands in front of him on the desk that was once Gerard's. 

Gerard placed the parchment letter with shaky hands on the mahogany desk and stepped away, a troubled look plastered on his face. "I'm afraid I do not come bearing good tidings. You see, when I was manager here, there were accounts of...strange things happening around the Opera. As you are going to be running this place from now on, I thought it was important to inform you about this being."

Choleti slid the parchment towards him with a raised eyebrow. "What are you implying, monsieur?" The man twitched his upper lip perplexingly. "I am not one for fairytales."

"I assure you, this is not a fable," Gerard continued urgently. "This entity has been dubbed The Phantom of the Opera. It is assumed that he wanders around the Opera and hides within the walls, although no one has seen him."

Choleti unfolded the letter and stared at the red scribbled words on the page, his fist tightening in rage as he read more of the letter. The short man crumpled the letter into a ball and tossed it angrily at the desk, glaring furiously at Gerard as the paper bounced to the floor.

"What kind of fool do you take me for, Carriere?" Choleti fumed with gritted teeth. "You expect me to believe there is a _Phantom_ running around the Opera? And not only that - a Phantom that writes letters?"

Gerard was taken aback by Choleti's outburst; he had expected to be met with skepticism about a ghost, but not _rage_. He had to wonder what on earth Erik had written in the note that had angered the manager so intensely. Gerard retrieved the crumpled piece of parchment and smoothed it out to the best of his abilities so he could read the red ink.

_Monsieur Choleti,_

_Since you are taking Monsieur Carriere's place as manager here at the Opera Garnier, it is of great import that you heed the instructions in this letter. I am to take part in artistic matters of the shows performed here - I shall communicate my decisions to you via letters such as this. In return of my input, I am to receive a portion of the Opera's earnings for each show - you may leave the payment inside Box 5, which is never to be sold, as I use it for viewing purposes._

_Failure to comply to my instructions will result in great misfortunes. Joseph Buquet can testify this._

_Regards,_

_The Opera Ghost_

"Is this a trick of yours, Gerard?" Choleti marched over and snatched the letter from Gerard's hand, shredding it to pieces. "Some sort of way to steal money from me? You're not clever and I am not falling for this ruse. Leave my office and this Opera house immediately!"

Without another word, Gerard turned his back towards Choleti and saw himself out. There was nothing he could do or say to change Choleti's mind about the mysterious presence in the Opera, but Gerard knew that Erik would make the man believe in ghosts, whether he wanted to or not.

-

Erik couldn't help but pace back and forth in his lair, anxious for how Gerard's letter delivery was going. Worried he might wear a rut into the stone floor from his pacing, Erik decided to return to his organ to take his worry-ridden mind off of the confrontation upstairs.

He immediately felt peace settle into his soul as soon as he sat down on the bench and placed his long fingers on the ivory keys. Erik flipped through the pages of music for the opera he was writing until he got to the beginning. When Erik was in the process of writing a song, he would occasionally play it through from the beginning and this would sometimes spark inspiration for the rest of the song. 

As Erik played through his work, the notes gentle and sorrowful, he felt the music take over him. He shut his eyes and allowed his hands to have free reign over the keys. Beautiful and pain-filled melodies greeted his ears and Erik wept from the pure emotion of the music. With a sustained note, Erik ended the song and his eyes fluttered open, his lips curling up in a satisfied smile. Grabbing his quill and ink, Erik scrawled the notes from what he had just played onto the blank sheet music.

Suddenly, a sound more resplendent than anything Erik's organ could produce filled his ears and stopped the flow of tears still falling from his golden eyes. Erik set his quill down and stood up, following the alluring sound. Once he realized the sound was coming from somewhere up above, he placed his mask on his face and tied on the black cape he had shown to Gerard earlier. Silent as the wind, Erik seemed to float up the stairs and into one of the many secret passageways within the walls of the Opera house.

Erik crept through the narrow tunnel and the sound grew louder. He was convinced he was hearing all of the angels in heaven singing to him, but as he came closer, the voice sounded more human, yet still angelic at the same time. Erik stopped at a point in the passageway where the singing was the loudest; the tune was unfamiliar to Erik and it sounded like a folksong. He pressed his ear to the wall and sighed as the sweet sound entered his ears; the woman's voice was the most tantalizing sound he had ever heard, yet there was a sense of familiarity in her voice, as if he had heard it somewhere before. 

"Christine!"

Another woman's voice shouted from the other side of the wall, silencing the beautiful voice and startling Erik to the point of nearly falling over. Once he composed himself, Erik smiled, for the voice had a name - _Christine_. Although he would never have the privilege of saying her name with his lips, he could hear her name in his mind - _What a lovely name._

"Yes, Madame?" Christine's speaking voice was soft as a feather as she responded.

"You know Madame Carlotta's rules - no singing on the job. You're a costume girl, not a singer!" an older-sounding woman scolded.

"Yes, of course. I apologize, it won't happen again," Christine replied, shame clear in her voice.

"I should hope so if you wish to keep your job here," the older woman retorted. "Come along, I need your help carrying costumes to the laundry room for washing."

The pair of footsteps pattered away, leaving Erik alone, still tucked away behind the wall. He was completely mesmerized by Christine's voice. _What kind of Opera manager forbids singing?_ Erik thought bitterly. He feared he might never hear Christine's singing again, unless he thought of a plan. Then, the idea hit him and he grinned to himself. All he needed was a place where Christine could sing and not be heard by anyone in the Opera house, and luckily Erik had access to such a place. If he could get Christine to come with him into the catacombs, then she could sing all she wanted, and Erik would be able to listen to her sweet voice once again.


	3. A Place to Sing

Erik could tell by the heaviness of the air that the sun had already set and that night had arrived. Although he had long since returned to his lair from sneaking around in the walls upstairs in the Opera house, the memory of the voice sweet as honey kept replaying itself in his mind. Grateful to have a pleasant memory haunting his conscious, Erik felt inspired to write more music; something not part of his opera and instead a stand-alone song.

The uplifting melody of the keys he pressed surprised Erik, for the notes he produced were typically melancholic and reminded Erik of an overcast sky with cold, drizzling rain; however these chords were as bright as the sun in June. As Erik played, he closed his eyes as his mind created a joyous scene.

The sound of buzzing bees and the gentle rustle of the cherry trees replaced the sound of the organ as Erik daydreamed. He could hear the laughter of children running through the golden hills of the French countryside as they chased each other around, their parents chatting amongst themselves on a picnic blanket nearby. The soft hum of a woman brought Erik's attention away from the children playing; Christine was beside him on their own picnic blanket, humming a soft melodic tune. Erik smiled at her and placed his large hand on top of her small and fragile one, tracing circles with his thumb on her wrist. Christine's pale blonde hair rippled in the wind like a sea of the finest champagne and her blue eyes sparkled with joy as she sang, gazing lovingly at Erik.

Erik must have accidentally hit a sour note, because all at once, the scene before him vanished and his eyes flung open, finding himself sat at his organ. His thumb had accidentally hit a sharp, thus bringing him back from his daydream painted by the music he played. He had _seen_ Christine right there in front of him, clear as day, despite the fact that he did not get to see what she looked like as he listened to her behind the wall. However, her appearance mattered little to Erik, for he knew she was beautiful by her angelic voice; God must have smiled when He made Christine, Erik had no doubt. 

Distraught to have been pulled away from such a bliss fantasy, Erik resolved that he needed a walk to stretch his legs and get his blood circulating. Since it was nighttime and no one was bound to still be in the Opera house, Erik didn't bother with his black fedora, and instead clothed himself with his black cape atop his loose, white, button-up shirt. He was just about to leave without his porcelain mask, concealing his entire face except for his eyes and mouth, however he had the nagging feeling that it was best that he wear it. Listening to his intuition, Erik placed the mask over his deformed face, or what was left of a face, and tied it snugly behind his head. 

With his long cape trailing behind him, Erik slowly roamed the dark and empty rooms of the Opera Garnier. During the day, the Opera was busting with people and loud with the noises of talking and music, but at night the Opera was deathly quiet and still. Since he had lived underground his whole life, Erik's eyes were sharp in the darkness and his ears were keen to even the slightest of sounds. It was this sharpness of hearing that his body had adapted due to his lifestyle that allowed him to hear a faint sobbing coming from somewhere in the Opera. Erik's footsteps halted and he placed his hand up to his ear, leaning in towards wherever the sound was coming from. 

After a moment of listening, he detected the location of the noise - one of the costume rooms. Worried that someone might be in danger, Erik swiftly made his way in the direction of the sound, his cape making it look as if he were floating down the hall; if someone had seen him, they would have _surely_ believed him to be a ghost. 

Towards the end of the dark hallway was a cracked door with a faint beam of light spilling out of it. Not wanting to startle whomever was crying, Erik politely knocked on the door, causing it to open a bit wider. The sobbing suddenly stopped and Erik heard someone gasp. A pair of light footsteps made their way towards the half-open door and Erik nearly fainted when the woman stepped into view; it was Christine, the same as he imagined her in his daydream. She was even more beautiful standing before him with her blonde hair pinned back in a bun, those soft blue eyes, and her fair porcelain-like skin.

Christine's eyes widened in fright at the sight of Erik and she slowly stepped backwards from him. It broke Erik's heart to see her look at him with such disdain, however he could understand why his appearance was haunting; that was why he lived underground. If his masked face was enough to make people cower in fear, Erik could not imagine one's reaction to seeing his disfigured face. 

While still walking backwards away from Erik, Christine tripped over a box, causing her to fall down with a thud. Without thinking twice, Erik swiftly swooped over and offered an outstretched hand to Christine, his amber eyes gazing at her with concern. It was then when the fear in Christine's eyes faded and her shoulders relaxed slightly as she took Erik's hand. Erik gently pulled her back up to her feet with a small smile.

"T-thank you, monsieur," Christine stuttered out, not taking her eyes off of Erik's and studying his face. 

Erik smiled in response and leaned towards her to wipe a stray tear from her cheek, his large rough fingers brushing her silky skin. Erik held the tear on his finger and tiled his head at Christine, as if to ask why she was crying. Thankfully, Christine seemed to understand what Erik was trying to ask.

"Oh, it's nothing really," Christine assured quickly, her pale cheeks turning red in embarrassment of being caught crying by a stranger. 

Erik raised an eyebrow and held out his hand towards her with his palm facing up. Christine puzzled at the gesture for a brief moment, which prompted Erik to glance at her hand and then back at his, nodding encouragingly. Finally understanding, Christine placed her cold hand in Erik's palm. Erik brought his other hand over and enclosed her tiny hand inside both of his, rubbing small circles on her wrist with his thumb; _Just as I did in my daydream_ , Erik thought to himself, still in complete disbelief that he was face-to-face with Christine.

Christine appeared to have taken this kind gesture as reassurance that she could confide in this masked man, a stranger he may be; there was an air of gentleness to him, along with a deep sadness in his golden eyes. Erik hurriedly let go of her hand when she started to sob again, worried that his touch may have upset her. He cursed himself for being so ignorant.

"I came here to get singing lessons," Christine cried, wiping her face with her dress sleeve. "I was supposed to join the chorus and be able to afford enough to pay for a place of my own, but there must have been some misunderstanding. They hired me as a costume girl, and while Madame Carlotta was kind enough to let me live in one of the costume rooms until I can afford someplace better, this is not what I dreamed I would be doing when I moved to Paris."

It took all the self-control Erik could muster to hold back his anger towards Carlotta and the new management. _Have they not heard her sing? With a voice like hers, she should be playing the leads, or be in the chorus at least!_ Erik balled his fists in an effort to let out his pent-up rage before steam came out of his ears. Then, he calmed himself and remembered the idea he had previously - to show her to his lair and have her practice with him there; as perfect as her voice was, Erik knew he could help her improve her voice even more.

Erik spotted some paper and pens sitting on top of a dusty shelf. He grabbed the paper and pressed it against the wall so he had a flat surface to write on. Erik's hand quickly jotted down his note, and when he was finished, he handed the piece of paper to Christine, folding his hands nervously behind his back as he awaited a response.

Christine's eyes scanned the words written in messy black ink for a couple of moments until her eyes met Erik's once again. He swallowed a lump in his throat as he tried to read her expression, determining whether or not she would accept his invitation. When a small smile formed on Christine's lips, Erik released a relieved breath he hadn't realized he was holding.

"You would really do that for me?" Christine asked in disbelief. "You can help teach me so I can sing here at the Opera?"

Erik nodded, an involuntary smile making its way on his face.

"Thank you so much..." She trailed off, not knowing what name to address him as. Erik took the paper from her hand and scribbled his name on it at the bottom. Returning the paper to Christine, he watched her eyes light up at his name.

"Erik."


	4. The Angels Smiled

Erik had once again found himself nervously pacing back-and-forth beside his pipe organ, his eyes constantly darting to the old grandfather clock that sat beside his organ and ticked away, chiming a tune at every hour. It was quarter past midnight and Erik had instructed Christine to meet him down here at midnight for lessons. A heavy sadness spread across his chest as he worried that she might not come. 

He reflected on Christine's first encounter with him the previous night and winced at the memory; she had been frightened by him. However, Erik could hardly blame her reaction to his appearance; he was a masked man with a statuesque figure clothed in blackness itself, for he considered himself to be blackness itself. As daunting as his mask may seem to Christine, he knew she would be even more appalled if she saw the grotesqueness that lurked underneath the porcelain.

Suddenly, the sound of soft footsteps light as feathers graced Erik's keen ears. He ceased his pacing and dashed to his mirror to adjust his mask, smooth his golden hair, and straighten his white cravat. Once he was satisfied, he returned to his post, standing beside his organ and waiting patiently for the sight of sweet Christine.

It took all the willpower Erik could muster to maintain his composure as Christine's small form appeared from a dark doorway. She held a lit candelabra in her hand as her eyes glanced around nervously. When her eyes met Erik's, she visibly relaxed and smiled.

"Erik," the sound of his name on Christine's lips filled Erik with such a warmth he hadn't felt in a long time; not since his mother was alive. "I'm so sorry I'm late. Madame Carlotta had me brushing out her wigs and it took longer than I thought."

Erik gave her a soft smile and a dip of his head in understanding; truth be told he would wait an eternity for her sake. He gestured for her to come stand beside him as he took his place on the organ bench. Christine obeyed and set the candelabra down on top of the organ, straightening her ragged dress. Erik internally frowned as he noticed the garments she was wearing. A woman as beautiful as Christine should be clothed in the finest silks and satin; he made a mental note to provide her with more appropriate attire.

Pushing the thought aside, Erik brought his focus back on Christine's lesson. He played up through a scale on the organ and then back down again, glancing back at Christine as if to ask if she were ready. Christine nodded and Erik played the first chord of the scale, followed by Christine singing the sustained note. They continued this exercise until Christine couldn't sing any higher. Erik was greatly impressed with her range, and he expressed this with a gentle clap of his hands. Christine blushed in return and fiddled around with her hands, much to Erik's amusement; for he found himself doing the exact same thing when he was flustered.

"Thank you," Christine grinned, looking at the floor. Erik flipped through some of the sheet music he had perched on his organ. Although Erik mainly played compositions he had written himself, he had collected a vast assortment of music from all around the world; sometimes even music written on parchment sodden with water would come floating into his lair - "gifts from the universe," he would call them.

After a few moments of searching, Erik found a copy of _Ave Maria,_ an old aria typically sung in churches. He recalled hearing the song echoing all the way from the Notre Dame one cold winter's night during a midnight mass. The air had been quiet and still enough for the melody to carry over all the way underground, giving Erik a taste of heaven in his hellish home. The song had been beautiful coming from the mouths of the church choir, so Erik could not fathom how divine it would sound for Christine to sing it; he desired to find out.

Erik picked out the music from the stack and laid them out in front of him on the stand. He cast a side glance at Christine, pointing to the music questioningly with a hopeful smile. She leaned in, nearly brushing Erik's shoulder in the process, and gave a nod. "I'm familiar with this song. I used to sing it as a girl in the church choir."

Erik had to catch his breath, winded from being so close to Christine. He tried his best to hide his daze and cleared his throat, returning his fingers to the organ keys. He played the first couple of bars before Christine joined in. Then, it was as if the musty and cold walls of the catacombs melted away around the two; Erik felt lighter than air as he took in the sound of Christine's celestial voice. They must have ascended past the pearly gates of Heaven itself, because Erik could have sworn he saw multitudes of angels smiling down upon them - no not on the both of them; their holy gazes were fixated on Christine alone. 

"Erik..." he thought he heard one of the angels calling his name. After a second glance, he saw Christine's clear eyes looking into his, round with worry. It was then when he felt the cool stream of tears on his cheeks, no longer warm in the cool air. He didn't know how long he had been sitting like that, but from the troubled guise of Christine, he assumed it had been a considerable amount of time.

"Is something wrong, Erik?" The concern in her demeanor was genuine. "Did my voice not please you?"

This last remark shook Erik out of the blissful trance he had been in. He snapped his head towards her, a look of sheer disbelief on his face, clear to see despite his mask. He held up a finger to her, imploring her to wait, as he pulled out a piece of blank parchment. His fingers trembled as he quickly wrote down how he really felt about dear Christine's voice; he wrote with such intensity that he feared he might snap his quill from the sheer force of his hand.

When he'd finished, he handed Christine the note with a short nod of approval. She slid the note from his hand and read it over:

_My dear, your voice is what I hear in my dreams - I felt as though I had been transported to the golden clouds of Heaven as you sang. The angels smiled when they thought of you, Christine, and they surely rejoiced hearing you tonight_

Christine's cheeks heated up to a soft shade of red once again. She tore her gaze away from the letter and returned them to Erik's longing eyes. "Thank you, monsieur," her voice came out in a soft whisper. 

Erik could only offer a kind smile in return, something he found himself doing more often that he probably ever had in his life. He so wished he could speak his heart to her with words, but he hadn't spoken since his mother passed when he was just a boy. She was the only one who Erik had to talk to; she even looked at his disfigured face with pure love. When she died, he had no one around to hear his stories, no one to play with, and no one to hear him sing. _Oh yes,_ Erik recalled, _I used to sing for her, and I would even sing with her - although her voice was much more beautiful than mine._ Come to think of it, Christine's voice made him think of his late mother's. Could it be that she sent Christine to him as a gift from Heaven; a reminder that she was always looking out for her boy?

No doubt, she had sent Gerard his way - what a stroke of luck it was that he so happened to stumble into the catacombs to find Erik curled over his mother's body, weeping. Gerard offered to take care of him and the man taught Erik to read, write, and create. Although the man had raised him, Erik did not ever speak to Gerard, for he believed that his voice died along with his mother.

When Gerard was the Opera manager, he would consult Erik for creative advice on the operas performed there, and was paid handsomely in exchange. Erik truly owed Gerard his life. He hoped that once he finished his Opera, he could somehow regain custody of the Garnier and return it to its rightful owner, Gerard Carriere.

The loud chime of the old grandfather clock caused Christine to flinch in surprise, turning towards the direction of the noise. The clock rang twice, announcing that it was 2am. 

"Oh goodness, I didn't realize how late it was," Christine gasped. "I must get going. Madame Carlotta wants me to help her out with one of there costumes early tomorrow morning."

Erik stood up and gathered his sheet music together. He turned to her and gave a bow of dismissal before returning to organizing his music. Suddenly, he felt two small arms wrap gently around his midsection. When he looked down, he saw that Christine was _hugging_ him. Unsure of what to do, Erik slowly rested his hands around her shoulders carefully, as if she might break in his embrace. Christine pulled away and waved goodbye, leaving out the same passageway from which she came.

"Thank you, Erik, for everything"


	5. Beauty of Faces

The following night's sleep was tender and sweet, filled with dreams of cascading waterfalls, clear bubbling streams, and golden-rimmed clouds. Erik sat beside the crystal-like brook with his hand skimming the cool and crisp water. His gaze was focused on the brilliant oranges and pinks painted in the sky as the sun returned to rest behind the hills in the distance; as much as Erik enjoyed the water, he never dared look down at it, for fear of seeing his monstrous reflection staring back at him. In his dreams, he never wore his mask and relished in the relief of his face being unconfined in its prison, however his disfigurement would always haunt even his most pleasant dreams.

Something was peculiar in this dream, he noticed; from the corner of his eye where his hand rippled the surface of the water, he did not see the redness of his deformed visage. At first, Erik thought that it might have simply been a trick of the light and still refused to get a clearer look; but curiosity began to eat away at him. Resolving to be brave, Erik inhaled a deep breath before slowly turning his head towards his reflection in the stream.

Instead of being met with the harsh reality of his mangled features, Erik's heart skipped a beat when he fully comprehended the sight before him - he looked like a normal man. His golden eyes shone brightly, not concealed by his mask, his nose came to a soft point, and his lips were soft and pink, framed by a round jawline. Tears pooled in the corners of his eyes and tumbled down into the stream, sending ripples of water ringlets across the surface.

_I'm a normal man..._

Then, as quick as a blink, Erik felt his surroundings dissipate and vanish around him. He reached out wherever he could in an attempt to cling onto the smallest piece of his dream, but his hands met emptiness. Erik tried to cry out, but no sound came from his open mouth as he plummeted into darkness.

Erik awoke in his bed, gasping for breath, for although he hadn't been able to scream, his throat was raw and his lungs felt weary. His hands instinctively went up to feel his face, wondering if possibly his deformities had magically disappeared overnight. He cursed himself for being so foolish as his fingers felt the familiar bumps and dips in his skin. As his eyes, bleary from sleep, cleared up a bit, he caught sight of his organ, and like magic, his sadness dissipated as he recalled yesterday's lesson with Christine.

Had that too been a blissful dream created by his subconscious to deal with his perpetual loneliness? Or was there truly a merciful God in the heavens who had taken pity on Erik's fate and blessed him with the presence of Christine? 

Erik surely would have been convinced that he had imagined the events of yesterday, until he spotted his writing to her on the back of a parchment sheet of music. Warmth crept into his cheeks and he smiled, holding the note to his chest, for Christine had been the last to touch the paper and he felt comfort in that knowledge. While holding the last scrap he had of Christine, he remembered the clothes she had been wearing when she met with him. _Unacceptable, for a woman of such beauty and talent._ Erik thought bitterly. He was going to make sure she had the best clothes, because she deserved no less. 

But that meant that he would have to go into the city, which was something he had never done before. Gerard would always discourage Erik from leaving the catacombs. "You cannot risk being caught by the police at worst, or being ridiculed at best!" His words repeated in Erik's head, causing him to grimace. Although his old friend's words were painful, they were true. Erik imagined that a masked man in the middle of Paris would stick out like a sore thumb, yet so would a man with hardly a scrap of a face. 

As he pondered his dilemma, Erik formed an idea; an idea that he found silly to have not thought of before. The Opera Garnier had many storage rooms where they kept costumes from past performances, and Erik's mother had taught him to sew when he was very young, so he could make clothing for his Christine. 

Erik could hardly contain his excitement as he laced up his white undershirt and slipped on his long, shadowy cape. Once he had his white mask secure, he dressed up his appearance with his diamond-studded mask for the occasion. As quiet and graceful as the wind, Erik slipped into one of the narrow passageways in the inner walls of the Opera house and made his way towards the costume storage rooms.

Since it was early in the morning, Erik didn't have to worry about being caught by any of the Opera employees, so he crept out from behind one of the walls and began rummaging through the racks of costumes hung up on coat hangers. With delicate gloved hands, Erik gently pulled out an elegant cream-colored gown with intricate embroidery sewn into it the skirt. His creative mind began producing visions of what the dress would look like when he was finished making it. 

Next, he found himself pilfering through a box of miscellaneous garments until he found a scrap of black silk.  _ This will look beautiful around the waist of the cream gown! _ Erik continued looking through the box until he suddenly heard the sound of loud footsteps coming his way. He swiped a couple more scraps of fabric before melting into back into the shadows. Erik took in silent and shallow breaths as his sharp eyes peered through the darkness at his intruder.

Erik held back a scoff as the pompous form of Carlotta entered the room wearing a gaudy robe that trailed behind her. Her beady eyes snooped around the costume racks, and she shuffled through a couple of them as if she were looking for something or seeing if something was amiss. After a couple of painstaking minutes of the beastly woman taking her precious time gawking around the costume room, she finally left, slamming the door so loudly it hurt Erik's ears. If Erik could speak, he would have muttered a string of curses at her to relieve the pent-up frustration of her. 

Once he decided he had all the things needed for Christine's dress, Erik crept away as silently as he had come and retreated to his domain to begin working on his next masterpiece.

~

His back ached from slouching over the sewing table, and his fingers were sore from accidentally jabbing himself with the sewing needle several times, but he had finished his work. Erik hadn't slept, but he knew he would not have been able to get a wink of sleep with the pure excitement that flowed through his veins at the thought of Christine's dress. When Erik was inspired, nothing else mattered but his art. 

Erik pushed his chair back and stood up, his legs protesting with a deep ache from sitting all night. He gently lifted the dress from the table and held it out in front of him. A satisfied smile beamed from his face as he admired his diligent work, and an even bigger grin appeared as he imagined his dear Christine wearing it. 

A part of him feared that she might think it odd that her Maestro would bestow upon her such a well-crafted gift, so Erik decided to deliver the dress to her anonymously. Erik wrapped the dress in a white gift box adorned with a big gold ribbon, giving it a decorative and tasteful look. 

As Erik went to head up the stairs to drop off his present to Christine, he passed by his mirror and gasped. He knew he was hideous, but he looked absolutely horrendous; his usually neat golden locks were disheveled and matted, and the skin under his eyes sagged. Erik hastily brushed his hair until it was tidy again, and he brushed powdered concealer on the exposed parts of his face that the mask didn't cover. Now, ready and feeling confident, Erik strode up the stairs to deliver his parcel. 

He used a passageway that led straight to where Christine was staying. Erik set his wrapped present on top of her bed and left in a hurry as not to be seen.

On his way back down to the catacombs, a familiar voice caught his attention; Christine was nearby. Erik followed the tunnel until it stopped at a dead end. He noticed a trapdoor on the ceiling and climbed out through it. Erik found himself backstage of the theatre, hidden by the large curtains. The stagehands bustling around, carting props and costumes, took no notice of Erik as he snuck around, following Christine's voice.

Finally, after concealing himself in the curtain, he spotted her. Christine was laughing, and her blue eyes sparkled with pure joy as she talked to...a man. The man had his back facing Erik, but the man held himself properly with an air of importance. His shoulder-length blonde hair was clear of imperfection, cascading over his expensive-looking gray suit. Erik saw Christine wave goodbye to the man, and when the man turned around to walk away, Erik's breath hitched, and his jaw clenched.

It was Le Comte Philippe de Chagny.


End file.
